


Again

by Catchclaw



Series: Now, Again, Always [2]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Affection, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Schmoop, Second Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21832015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: It feels like a dream.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Now, Again, Always [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573126
Comments: 16
Kudos: 229





	Again

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://giant.gfycat.com/SatisfiedEntireJerboa.gif).

It feels like a dream.

It feels like a dream, the way Obi-Wan looks at him.

It feels like a dream, the way Obi-Wan looks at him when they do this, his eyes as soft as his fingers are strong.

 _Take your time_ , he’ll say, indulgent, the words thick with everything he doesn’t need to say. _We’re in no rush._

Anakin will nuzzle his hip. _Aren’t we? Transport leaves in a few hours. You said we had to be on it._

_Did I? How damned foolish of me._

_Mmmmm. I agree._

Anakin will stroke his ribs, press his cheek to the rise of Obi-Wan’s breath, and he’ll feel as well as hear it this time, the hazy flush of his master’s smile. 

_Well, then,_ Obi-Wan will say softly. _Let’s make the most of what lies between now and then._

It doesn’t happen enough for Anakin’s liking. He’d have this every day if he could. There are moments between blaster shots and swings of his ‘saber when it seems far more logical for them to stay in bed forever rather than risk their lives for the Republic, for each other, again and again and again.

But perhaps the uncertainty is what makes the rarity of times like this all the sweeter: times when there is no ticking clock and no fume of battle but only the miasma of their affection, of Obi-Wan’s indulgence of Anakin’s careful attentions, that lies between now and then.

 _Dear one_ , Obi-Wan murmurs. _Oh, the picture you make when you look at me like that._

They’ve been like this for an hour, stretched out on the rocky shores of a beach in the last of an afternoon’s sun. The war is still out there, somewhere, but here, Obi-Wan is on his back like a loth cat, purring, his battered skin bared to the air. His legs are spread and his eyes are clear and bright and his hand is in Anakin’s hair, an anchor, a reminder, a beautiful echo of their connection in the Force. And he’s hard; Anakin can feel Obi-Wan’s arousal burning alongside his own and he wants his master inside him, he does, but right now, he wants this more: to touch every part of him, to relearn every inch of his skin, to feel Obi-Wan joyfully surrender to him again.  
  


*****

There was a time, after that night on Tydfil, when he thought he’d have to live the rest of his life fed only by memories. Obi-Wan had been so silent as they travelled to their next assignment, another nameless, battered world on the Rim that the Separatists were trying to sink their claws into. Space travel was exhausting when you weren’t the one flying, but this was worse, so much worse, because Obi-Wan spoke to him as if everything were the same, as if they were, as if Anakin hadn’t seen Obi-Wan’s head fall back against the sheets and call Anakin’s name as he came.

Obi-Wan hadn’t ignored him during those long, awful hours. Maybe that would have been easier. He’d just slipped back under the shield of the Jedi and kept their conversations, spoken and through their bond, clipped, professional. Brief.

His apparent disinterest was a stone in Anakin’s chest, a choke. He turned his back and hunched over star charts and didn’t raise his eyes to anyone when he spoke.

It was bad form and poor manners. Obi-Wan didn’t like it; Anakin could feel his disapproval. _Well,_ he thought vicious, loudly, _it’s all your fault, so. Good._

Only when Commander Cody called that they were sixty minutes out had Obi-Wan yanked on their bond and said something smooth to the others and march Anakin off the bridge and down to a half-empty storeroom and seal the door with its lock, with the Force, and Anakin wanted to be angry, still was, but stars help him, he couldn’t look up.

 _Anakin_. That patient voice, the gentle one that grated. _We can’t have this._

All at once there were tears in his eyes. He’d known it was coming. He known that the time they’d spent tangled and breathless was fleeting. It had to be. They were Knights; there was war. The Council would kill them. What had been only this morning--was it only this morning, he’d thought, that Obi-Wan had been pressed against his back, breathing sweetness into Anakin’s ear as his hips rocked in shallow, teasing strokes until they were both shaking.

 _Like this_? Obi-Wan had panted. _LIke this, Anakin, or on your back?_

Anakin remembered laughing, the high greedy sound of it, the way he’d clawed at the curl of Obi-Wan’s arm. _I don’t care. I don’t care. Just do it, Master. Make me come_.

Oh, hell. 

He kept his eyes on the floor of the storeroom and thought: it was better to have his dreams crushed like this, wasn’t it, newborn in the creche, than to carry that hope around with him for the rest of his life. 

He swallowed, shaped his words as sneer:

_Oh? What is it we can’t have, Master?_

_Tsk. You can’t act like an overindulged youngling every time you don’t get what you want_.

_What?_

It wasn’t quite the answer he’d been expecting. Nor was Obi-Wan’s tone; less chiding and more a cool summer morning with a hint of coming warmth.

Then there was Obi-Wan’s hand in his hair, resting firm against the back of his neck. _You do understand that our not making love in public doesn’t mean that I care for you any less._

His gaze had snapped up, unbidden. _Huh?_

 _I said_ , Obi-Wan had said calmly, as if they were discussing the artificial weather, _that just because I want to, I can’t kiss you all the damn time. It’s not really in keeping with common social graces._

He reached out and found robes. His knees felt unsteady. _It’s not?_

There was a twinkle in Obi-Wan’s voice, one mirrored on his face. _Sadly, no._ _But then, that is why the Maker created locked doors._

And there, amongst crates of bombs and blasters, instruments of war and of death, Obi-Wan had pulled him close and traced the edges of his mouth and given him life again.  
  


****

Now, on the banks of a quiet, sighing lake under a growing battalion of stars, Obi-Wan is his again, his skin hot and deliciously damp. His chest is flushed; the soft skin of his thighs singes. Anakin loves him so much he could burst.

 _Don’t you dare_ , Obi-Wan says, his teeth caught in his lip. _Not until I’m inside you._

He kisses the turn of Obi-Wan’s elbows. Licks at the scar on his forearm he got last year on Monerox III. _Oh, you’re giving the orders now, huh?_

_I’m trying to keep you from doing something foolish._

_No, you’re not._ He grins against one nipple and pinches fierce at the next. _You’re just feeling greedy._

Obi-Wan arches, cursing, sputters: _Yes._

_You want your cock inside me. You want me on top of you._

_Anakin_.

He pushes back and rubs their hips together, feels the way Obi-Wan’s twitching, the steel of it. The heat. _You want me to ride you and jerk off while I do it, don't you, huh?_

A groan, a sound that claws at Anakin's heart. He leans over, whispers:

 _Admit it, Master: you're dying to feel me come_.

It feels like a dream, Obi-Wan’s face when they do this. When he loses his patience at last and flips them over, drives Anakin into the blanket and puts his mouth where his cock will go. He growls against Anakin’s body and he digs his nails into Anakin’s hips and there is no patience in his body now, no languor--Anakin has stripped that away. 

_You_ , Obi-Wan says when he pushes in, _are an insufferable tease._

He winds his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck, grinning, gasping. _Am I?_

_Oh, stars, yes. And if I had any patience at all left with you, I’d return the favor in kind._

_But you can’t, can you?_ Their mouths meet. _You need me now, don’t you?_

Obi-Wan makes a sound, a soft, torn thing that makes the strands of the universe that bind them pull tightly together and sing.

A murmur, a moment, song. _Not just now, dear one._ _Always._


End file.
